


My Words Fly Up

by tronjolras



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angel!Combeferre, Angel!Courfeyrac, Angel!Javert, Guardian Angel AU, M/M, Multi, angel!Enjolras, angsty af, fallen angel AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4081801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tronjolras/pseuds/tronjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thought never to heaven go."-Hamlet<br/>One Prayer. <br/>That's all angels get when they fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Rules

One prayer.  
That's all an angel gets when they fall.  
Some angels are frugal and they hold onto that prayer until their knuckles turn white and others use it to foolishly bargain their way back into heaven.  
Enjolras wasted his twenty years ago on saving an unrepentant sinner who died soon anyway and spent the rest of his imprisonment slumming on the ground.  
If he could just save one person…  
One sinner and he’d be back, those were the rules.


	2. The One Night Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

"Did it hurt?" 

Enjolras isn't even supposed to be there. He was supposed to meet his friends at the Musain, a coffee shop down the street, but he did not feel up to their antics, nor did he feel like going home and being questioned by his worried roommates, so he finds himself at a dive bar near campus, confronted by a tiny five foot three bundle of leathery skin, ratty curls, and a brown glass bottle not ten minutes after he sat down.

"What?" Enjolras asked, half because he can barely hear the guy over the music and people and half because it would be rude not to.

"Did it hurt?" the guy, who Enjolras vaguely recognized from around the university campus, repeated. "When you fell from heaven?"

Enjolras stopped.

Fuck.

Enjolras' mind flickered with images of his torn wings, the blood, the feathers, the dull ache he still got on his shoulder, blades sometimes. The pain saturated his mind until he connected the words to the cliched pick-up line.

He looked into the man's eyes, a little dull from the alcohol, but glinting with the joke.

"Yes," Enjolras said with a grimace. "It did hurt."

~~~

The next morning, he hurt again. The guy, “R” he called himself, knew how to kiss. Little red and purple bruises littered Enjolras’ neck when he woke up in a strange room and a strange bed. The whole room smelled like cigarette smoke and bad cologne. Enjolras rolled over, confronting the mop of soft dark curls that had felt so good between his fingers last night. He had had R begging, shouting his name. It felt good to be worshipped again, even it was just a drunkard that picked him up in a bar. Enjolras rolled onto his back and waited for the sun to peek through the bare window. 

And as the sunlight crept into the room, Enjolras counted another day on earth and no progress made. Suddenly last night became a waste, a fall to wretched debauchery. This was sin in its highest form--

At least is was until R rolled over in his sleep to nuzzle into Enjolras’ shoulder.

 

It was a half an hour until R stirred again. The whole time, Enjolras was debating the moral and holy consequences of his one night stand, not discounting that a one night stand was what damned him to earth in the first place. By the end, Enjolras decided that this was innocent, that R was innocent, unlike his last affair. 

R rolled toward the window, then he groaned because of the sun on his face, then he rolled back over and grumbled when Enjolras was in the way. He opened one eye and then the other, and like a cartoon character, his eyes bugged and he shot up.

He looked different in the sunlight. Last night, his features were sharp, confident, and sturdy. Now, he looked breakable...

“Morning,” Enjolras said lazily. He reached a long limb out for R’s shoulder, with every intent of going another round. When R didn’t allow himself to be pulled down, Enjolras propped himself up on his elbows. He allowed his smile to become wolffish as he grabbed R by the base his head, tangling his long fingers in the curls. 

R whined against his mouth and it's hard not to compare him to a puppy. "Holy shit," he said when Enjolras pulled away to breathe. R's hands were against his chest, keeping him at a distance and Enjolras couldn't understand why. R's dark eyes are still big and worried. "You have to go," he said, pushing Enjolras away.

"What?"

"You need to leave," R pushed himself off his bed and grabbed Enjolras' clothes from the floor.

R tossed him the bundle of clothing and he started to put them on. Enjolras' lips were drawn into a frown. "R, I don't understand."

R wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was hunched over his phone. "R, what is it?" Enjolras sat, trying to catch R's gaze.

"It's nothing!" he says too quickly. He shoved his phone into a dresser drawer and waits to show Enjolras out. "Look, I'm sorry but you can't be here right now."  
"What's going on?" Enjolras demanded, but he stood anyway. 

R held the door open to the rest of the apartment and that was when Enjolras saw it, on a shelf, leaning against the wall, surrounded by battered books and packages of pencils and fat sketchbooks. It's in a little black frame and there's so much love to it. Enjolras didn't think he'd ever seen two people so obviously and deliriously in love before as R and the black haired guy in the photo. Enjolras starts to see the face everywhere in the apartment. On a stack of Polaroids, in sketches tacked to the bare white walls.

"You have a boyfriend." Enjolras wasn't angry. He thought that he should be. He thought R wanted him to be. But to him, it was just another sprinkle on the clusterfuck of a sundae that became his life. 

Enjolras turned around and saw R looking at him with his big eyes.

Enjolras shrugged. "Guess I won't leave my number then."

~~~

Enjolras stopped at the church on the way back to his apartment. It was an old Catholic Church in the middle of the city. Like usual, the church was all but empty on a Saturday morning. Enjolras stopped at a pew halfway down the center aisle and recited an "Our Father" and a "Hail Mary." He knew they wouldn't do him any good, but here, amongst the things that gave him life, he felt little less empty than out there in the big, cold world. 

Before leaving, he stopped at the bank of vigil candles. He emptied whatever change he had in his pockets into the donation basket and took the lighter to light two of the candles toward the end. On two separate cards, he wrote two separate names.

The first was for Zephine. 

Zephine, the unrepentant sinner, his lover. The one who made him forget his duties long enough to fall. She was wild and beautiful and deceased for the last sixteen years. 

The second was for the girl he abandoned.

Fantine had just become friends with Zephine. Before, Fantine never made any real trouble and it seemed like no one ever cared to harm her. It wasn't until Zephine and two other girls entered the picture that her guardian angel was ever given cause to worry, and if he hadn't been so caught up in his lust for Zephine, he would have seen the way Fantine was straying. He would have saved her.

The night he gave into Zephine, was the night he fell. 

He thought of lighting a third. It would have been a nice sentiment, if rather bare. Enjolras imagined what he would write, _R, I hope your boyfriend forgives you. I hope he takes advantage of how fucking fantastic your kisses are._ Enjolras shrugged and left, sentiment decidedly unexpressed.


End file.
